Memories...

We walked out on the pier to the Boat Shack at Nick's Cove at Point Reyes Seashore. Inside the old weather beaten building the potbellied stove was breathing warmth into the room. An old upright piano, a few keys visibly stuck, sat lonely and dusty along one wall. Suspended from the ceiling is a row boat missing the lap of water across it's bow. A hint of sunshine was peeking through the overcast sky~the last crumbs of summer along the California Coast.

We sat in the Adirondack chairs outside, allowing our lunches to digest, my husband, Clark, and his sister reminiscing about the happenings of 30 or more years ago. Where does all of that time go? Listening to them chat got me thinking about my own childhood memories...some so distant they seem like those wispy clouds that break apart right before your eyes or like a dream that fades away faster than you can tell someone the story.

Other memories bring back a flood of images and even smells. As we travel around the country I, of course, want to take Clark to that little town in Pennsylvania where my extended family still lives and where my most vivid childhood memories were born. But what I really want is for him to be able to experience it in the same way I did as a kid...as if we were both 12 years old.

It would be during a summer break visiting Grammy Weber's house. We'd wake every morning and eat Apple Jacks and then go check for eggs in the chicken coop. This would be followed by a hike to the Fishing Hole along the creek to build up our appetites because Gram would, most certainly, be making homemade Alphabet Soup or Lentils for lunch. And, of course, there would her famous Rice Pudding.

Everyone would be 30 years younger...Grammy and my dad would be alive as would my cousins Jenny and Rosemary. We would have the innocence and awe of children all over again. But I know that it won't be the same.

The creek will seem closer and the farm smaller (and not even a farm anymore) and everyone will be older. Hell, I'm now older than most of them were the last time I saw them!

But we will still go and visit and make new memories. I'll try to describe everything as I remembered when I was 12...the place where the tiny wild strawberries grew that Grammy made into jam, the spot dad and I would "camp" along McMichael's Creek that once felt so far from the house that I would be too scared to walk there alone and then I'll show Clark how my sister and I would use one of the handmade afghans as a 'tent' to warm ourselves up over the vents of the furnace (the metal grates would get so hot it would melt waffle marks into the bottoms of our slippers).

I'll show Clark the bedroom I stayed in for 9 months while my Gram and Aunt Beatrice nursed me back to health both physically and emotionally when I left home after "recovering" from anorexia. And then I'll show him where I worked as a trail ride guide until I moved to California to train horses and then back to Alaska for college.

There are a lot of good memories there...and a lot of good people. I'm afraid I've let time and distance separate me from my family but I also know we will be able to pick up where we left off. It won't be the same I know, but it will still be good.

16GB with the Happiness Display

As I walked around the store checking out the new Kindles and Nooks, comparing features and screens along with pricing, I felt my heart rate starting to increase. I was dazzled and confused. As I walked briskly between the two large displays, I caught a glimpse at a third display holding yet another Kindle. It was shining under a spot light and boasting a most impressive price tag, surely it must have been the holy grail of e-readers.  I ogled it, flipped through the ‘pages’ and pictured just how much better my life would be if I owned it. I would be happier, certainly.

I have a laptop (two actually but let’s just say one is my husband’s), a basic Kindle and a smart phone. My husband has an iPhone and iPad. We are always within reach of one or all of these things. My laptop has a permanent place on our dinette. Yet I found myself being pulled by the belief that having more or newer would equal better and happier.

via Pinterest

I sometimes get suckered into it all…the glossy ads and ‘best of’ suggestions sent to my inbox urging me to try the latest and greatest e-reader, vodka, cell phone, coffee, jeans, shampoo, mascara…ads designed to convince me that I am unhappy with what I already have but I just don’t know it yet. How could I be so delusional thinking my old mascara is good enough?

 

But then, I head to the store to buy my little package of happiness only to be confronted by 27 different mascaras. Do I want fuller lashes or longer lashes? Brown, brown-black, black, blackest-black…I’m overwhelmed and I no longer know what I want or even what I like…it’s paralyzing. I finally fold,  grab my precious, life fulfilling wand of magic, pay and as I head home the doubt creeps in…I probably should have gotten the waterproof one. I can’t be happy now.

Often, having too many choices leaves us wondering what we might be missing having not chosen the other. We can’t stay present long enough to enjoy what we have because we are wondering if the sandwich at that other restaurant would have tasted better than the one we got. We forget to be happy with what we have and that what we have is wonderful (be it our sandwich or spouse).

We end up cluttering our lives and minds leaving not a lot of room for contentment for that which we already possess (or even the freedom we have by not possessing so many things). It’s a difficult cycle to slow down, let alone stop. Seeking happiness isn’t the problem, thinking we can buy it or upgrade to it is. In case you're wondering, I didn't buy the Kindle and I'm pretty dang happy about that.

What Doesn't {but almost} Kill Us...

My last blog post I wrote about my own experience with anorexia. I’ve often referred to this time as surreal, like a story I read or a movie I watched…completely detached, as if I was not the protagonist. I guess it’s sort of a defense mechanism on two fronts. One being the embarrassment of having allowed myself to almost die right in front of my parent’s eyes, with no ‘good reason’…a typical white girl from a typical middle-class family, starving herself to death for what?? Even I didn’t know.

My first full day in Charter North Inpatient Hospital (1987).

The second being my embarrassment over the fact that if you met me you would see there is no physical evidence of this illness. To hear me tell this story in the body I have now doesn’t compute…at least not in my head. It’s easy to disassociate myself because the dots just don’t connect. How could someone who ‘dieted’ from 125 pounds to less than 80 pounds in a matter of a few months now struggle to lose (and keep off) even 5 pounds?

What I have managed to hoard away are snippets of distorted eating and thinking…sneaking food, guarding my plate, trying to stretch calories, abhorring any discussion of my food while I’m eating, and a tendency to eat in a structured way (vegetarian, vegan, raw). Intellectually, I know that I still obsess about food, exercise and my weight. I often wonder if fluctuating between the extremes is really all that much better-as if eating half a bag of Doritos is really a healthy way of thumbing my nose at anorexia or dieting in general (only to later “pay for it” by a day of green smoothies, shakes or all veggies and no carbs).

For years now I’ve claimed to be completely recovered from anorexia, and looking at the scale that would be more than true. But, since part of this disorder is about everything except the weight I can see that I am not truly recovered…not completely.

Like a lot of people I know who battle with eating disorders ranging from bulimia to binge eating, healing the exterior doesn’t always mean the inside is fixed as well. In turning to my yoga mat and meditation I find the bandage being ripped off {again} and the pain being exposed. It hurts, it’s raw…and yes, it might seem easier on the surface to let it hide in the dark corners of mind. But I’m ready to heal…face the intermittent sadness and self-doubt (or hate or loathing) that is truly at the root of all of this.

I’m ready to own the illness that that almost killed me rather than pretend it happened to someone else. Twenty-five years of battling my mind and body is long enough.

My Anorexia Had Nothing to do with Photoshop

To be honest, I was never the type of girl to read Cosmo or worry about fashion. I was too busy reading every thing ever written by J.D. Salinger and Stephen King, riding horses and dreaming of competing at the Olympics. Most of my adolescences was spent as a working student at riding stables. My attire consisted of barn clothes for the most part. I cut my hair short since it spent countless hours under a riding helmet and it seemed rather pointless to fight a losing battle against hat-head. I was half tom-boy and half nerd, which was pretty suitable for an introvert like myself.

My horse, Elwood, and me in Redlands, CA. We won High Point that day in Dressage. This was a few months before I had to sell him and move to Alaska when I was 16 years old.

My older sister and I weren't particularly close at the time so I didn't really have anyone to show me the ropes regarding make up and hair or putting together cute outfits. I didn't have a boyfriend in school and therefore didn't attend any dances or social gatherings (did I mention I was a nerd...and an introvert). I also didn't have any weight issues, ate what I felt like eating and didn't do any extra exercises outside of the mandatory P.E. classes and working at the barn.

 

Me at 17 getting ready for Prom. This was taken after being treated for anorexia. I obviously had reverted to my old non-eating habits.

My experience with anorexia falls outside of what most of society thinks triggers such behavior and outside of what the anti-media community believes contributes to this illness (even though I watched plenty of T.V., looked through my mom's women's magazines and watched movies).  For me, anorexia was about control and later turned to self-punishment and then habit. I didn't want to be a model, I didn't feel the pressure to look a different way, and I honestly did not start off with a distorted body image...I was cognizant that I was "normal", maybe even fit. If anything anorexia was a way for me to rebel and be a non-conformist due to some major changes in my life (we moved from California to Alaska the summer before my senior year of high school). I think it's a dangerous assumption, especially for those directly affected by eating disorders, to view this as strictly a weight issue.Trying to convince the individual (or the world) that photoshopped pictures and under weight models are the root of this disease may totally miss the mark in an attempt to place the blame on 'some one else'.**

 

Tell me I should eat and I'll tell you I'm full. Tell me I'm too thin and I'll drop a few more pounds, not because I feel fat...but because I can, regardless of what you think. That was my mentality. When I was finally hospitalized (I was 16 years old, 5'4" and 84 pounds) and forced to take in calories, I found something else to control...my water intake. Water has no calories and obviously would have no impact on my weight but I refused to drink it anyway...and often dumped it into the pillow I sat on to protect my bony body from bruising.

Admittedly, after several months of starving myself, I was terrified of gaining the weight back...terrified that I wouldn't be able to stop the weight gain. I clung to my old habits convinced it would provide a cushion for the inevitable weight gain that comes with age. But this was not the root cause of my illness. So, when it came to trying to win this battle and save my life, I was lost and confused. Most of the doctors I spoke with had little to no experience with anorexia and dealt more with drug abuse, teen alcoholism and the occasional schizophrenic. Assuming that I was only concerned with being thinner was the wrong approach. And while I did get a rush from watching the numbers on scale drop it was only because it meant I was the winner, the one in control.

What caused me to get help? I caught a glimpse of myself in the bathroom mirror...naked...from behind. It was the first time I just saw only an image and not me. What I saw reminded me of the pictures of concentration camp victims...hollowed out buttocks and a spine that was so bony it appeared to be outside of my skin. I was exhausted, scared and although I had often desired to just fall asleep and never wake up, I knew I didn't want to die after all. I asked to go into inpatient care some 350 miles away from my parents and school.

It was not an easy task to recover and it was necessary for me to relearn how to eat. I gained a lot of weight, not just because of my metabolism, but because I forgot how to eat and now knew what it was to 'diet'. Strangely enough, having never had a weight issue before, I soon succumbed to the classic yo-yo dieting, the latest and greatest dieting trends and a 20 year battle of dieting because I had starved myself and forgotten how to eat.

By taking control I really lost control. My body recovered but my mind still hasn't (at least not fully). I find I am more affected by the media now then I ever was when I became anorexic. Affected by the 'new science' behind weight-loss, green smoothies, paleo, the raw food movement, skinny rules, the thousands of diet books, inspirational Facebook posts and Pinterest images depicting the "perfect" body.

I became consumed by food rather than consuming food. It became so much more than fuel for my body...it's the enemy and the comforter, the problem and the solution, the life giver and the life taker and (for many of us) it becomes our all-consuming identity. But in all reality...it's just food...calories that keep the living alive and healthy. Food is not meant to be a punishment or reward. It's not something we 'deserve' because we worked out hard or missed a meal the day before. It's sustenance...just like breathing in oxygen (ya know, we don't say we deserve a big ol' healthy inhalation because we've been 'good'). It's a function of nature.

I have an idea that a lot of us are more alike then maybe we imagined...the chronic dieters, the anorexic and the weight-loss maintainer. Our next meal (or lack there of) is always on our mind, calorie content flashes through our mind when we look at the bakery display and in the back of our minds (maybe just for a fleeting moment) we realize that food is dictating our lives instead of fueling our next adventure.
 

We eat or don't eat for control, we eat or don't eat to hide our emotions and eventually we eat or don't eat because we have forgotten how to feed ourselves. Yet we often prefer to remain in our own little group, unaware of how similar we are...that the overweight person who we view has no self-control is the farthest thing from us, the restrictors...the ones who can turn away even a leaf of lettuce for fear of weight gain. Conversely, the binger or maintainer can hardly fathom that someone who once weighed 84 pounds as an adult can contribute anything to a conversation regarding dieting or the hardships one encounters in maintaining a healthy weight. I think we could learn a lot from each other.

 

The body is miraculous. If left to it's own devises it figures out how to survive and maintain balance. But we interfere and throw a wrench in the gears. We break this symbiosis and then sometimes spend a lifetime trying to figure out how to fix it again. Just like a drug addict or tweaker...we take it apart, try to put it back together and, when that doesn't work, we go look for the next fix. Maybe one day I will actually learn to get out of my own way rather than buying yet another diet book.




 

 

**This is my own opinion based solely on my personal experience with anorexia 20 years ago. There is plenty of research out there to support or deny specific root causes to this illness. What I believe is that the mental illness comes before the pounds come off. Otherwise, everyone who reads Cosmo or looks through a Victoria's Secret catalogue or watches the 100's of movies or TV shows with thin actors and actresses would be anorexic too.

Lies My Red Cup Told Me...

I'm in green...obviously thrilled to have my picture taken.
Japan circa 1972

Living on the road has certainly brought some much needed perspective to my life. I grew up in what I felt was a middle class home...my dad was in the Air Force and my mom often worked as a florist where ever we happened to be stationed at the time. At some point during my childhood my dad went to Officer Training School and was commissioned as a Second Lieutenant which seemed to bring in a little extra money (we got a second car shortly after). But there were always money struggles...and arguments between my parents and fights that ended up with credit cards being cut into tiny pieces. Of course, I also remember standing next to my mom a few days later at the register at JC Penney while she rattled off the credit card number {from memory} to the sales clerk.



source

We didn't have fancy things...not like my friend Heidi whose mom didn't have to work. They had a formal living room and granola cereal in those skinny little boxes (aka expensive). Obviously I loved to go to Heidi's to spend the night so I could get a taste of the good life. In retrospect I don't think they were much better off than we were...they just had different priorities.

And that's what I'm finding out again...living in this RV on a retirees income, it's about priorities. I've always worked, often times being the bread-winner or having no other income to supplement my own. So this is a new (and uncomfortable) situation for me. I feel guilty about the expensive of some of my necessities {good God, my contact lens solution is how much?!} even though the hubs has no issue with it.

We spent several weeks living/camping in places that were fairly remote with only a small local general store or gas station in which to stock the fridge. I've had to suffer through instant coffee (and struggled with my french press for a week) since these stores tend to not carry K-cups which was, quite possibly, worse than being without Internet and cell phone service for 2 weeks straight! Now, when we are back in 'civilization' we hardly have any restraint when it comes to stocking up in the good stuff {K-cups, goat cheese rolled in exotic spices we've never heard of, handmade crackers, fancy fruits I've never eaten and probably won't like, etc.}.

And Starbucks.

The Holy Grail!

I got a Starbucks Gingerbread Soy Latte yesterday because I had to have it...and I deserved it...and it's delicousness is only available for a limited time only! It's in a red cup for criminy sake and I haven't had a Starbucks in weeks (come on, some people get one every day...or twice a day...don't judge). That first sip was like heaven...the 7th sip was okay...and by the time we got done grocery shopping my lukewarm nectar from the gods was just something else I had to carry (I couldn't throw it away after the big production I made about getting to have a Starbucks, finally).

I did eventually throw it away later that day, dumping the remaining 3/4 of it down the drain and tossing that damned red cup into the trash. Such a waste...a waste of money, time, non-recyclables. But still, a lesson learned. I don't need Starbucks. And I don't need handmade fancy crackers. It's all really a mind and marketing game. Going without for so long we feel like we deserve that stuff. But so far, none of it has really done anything for us that has been so spectacular that we could never live without it again. Of all of the beauty and peace and comfort and happiness that life can bring, especially when out in nature (at least for me), paying for over-priced coffee has proven to be something I can live without {I think}.

Now if you'll excuse me, I'm off to enjoy this day...sans Starbucks. Wish me luck!

Trying to find balance...

Some how I feel like I am more busy now than when I was working. Well, maybe not exactly but I am finding out how much work it is to be a full-time traveler (while taking care of an RV, husband, dog and 2 cats~there's a lot of mapping and cleaning and research involved!). Not that I'm complaining...but I suppose I am giving myself an excuse as to my lack of writing...and working out.

A cairn at Golden Canyon Death Valley National Park

I sure thought it would be easy to start running again...you know, with being in all of these beautiful National Parks and County campgrounds. But it's not. There are a lot of unknowns out there. We are often in places for just a night or two and not all of them appear 'safe' as far as getting out there alone to run a few miles. I've also 'allowed' myself the following excuses:

• It's too windy. (Las Vegas and Bullhead City)
• It's too hilly. (Sequoia, California Hot Springs, Panamint Springs)
• I don't know the area.
• I have to do laundry. (this is a half a day task in the RV)
• It's too hot. (Death Valley)
• It's too cold. (the desert)
• I'll look stupid in front of the other RV park guests. (yes, I used that one once and ended up walking about 3 miles instead of running)

And while sometimes there are legitimate reasons to skip a run (after all, you have to feel safe and not get lost and running in 45 mph winds with gusts up to 65 mph isn't my idea of a fun run) I've certainly had many opportunities to just get out there and just run. Instead I opted for some hiking and biking, which wasn't all that easy. One of our hikes was over 7 miles and uphill for half of it and another was 3 miles but had a 1000 foot elevation gain within 1.5 miles.

In Yosemite and Death Valley National Parks.

Still, I am starting to get the ache to run...especially when I read some of the blogs I follow, or tweets from runner friends. At this point (2 months since my last run, which was a trail half marathon) I am sure it will feel like starting over...low mileage and struggling with breathing. But I also remember the feeling of accomplishment and the freedom I would feel of just being outside running.

Admittedly, there is still that part of me that feels almost guilted into working out, and perhaps that's why I am resisting. I don't want my body image to dictate whether or not I work out or run. There's a fine line between loving yourself as you are and letting it all go to pot. So I am trying to let the desire return on it's own in some respect. I don't want to become that obsessive compulsive exerciser again...working out because I am less than if I don't.

Source

In the meantime, I'll continue with the hiking and biking with some kettle bell workouts and yoga mixed in for good measure. As far as writing, well I have filled up half a composition book over the course of 30 days since we are so often without Internet that it's the only way to keep up with my thoughts. Hopefully, as we travel to more civilized areas I can turn some of those words into future blog posts. I think there's some good stuff in there!

As I was writing this I came across a couple of interesting articles I felt described what I meant in regard to taking my exercise too far. Here are the links, I highly recommend them!

http://whole9life.com/2012/06/be-good-to-yourself-inside-and-out/
http://whole9life.com/2012/10/lies-we-tell-ourselves/
http://www.elephantjournal.com/2012/10/strong-is-the-new-skinny-my-ass-sandi-burden/

Nothing the See Here...Move Along {via the Past}...

Out in the middle of nowhere {okay, it was Coulterville, California~population 201} somewhere during the first few weeks of our grand RV escape, longing for a TV to watch Giants Baseball or even a little NFL, desperate for free wi-fi {who am I kidding, we would have PAID for it} we headed to the nearest town and parked next to this truck.

 

 

There were names of soldiers, some POW but mostly KIA, covering nearly every inch of this truck. Very somber to say the least. However, what I saw, right outside of our Jeep's passenger window, where I sat when we pulled next to this truck, literally took my breath away.

 

 

PFC. Rachel Bosveld was my sister-in-law (my sister is married to her brother) and I was shocked to not only find her name on this truck, thousands of miles from her home state of Wisconsin, but that her name was one of the first I saw. Tears instantly filled my eyes. Rachel was killed during a mortar attack on the Abu Ghraib Police Station in Iraq. She was just 19 years old. She and I did the music for our siblings' wedding in Alaska just 2 years earlier.

Rachel

It was such a surreal moment, seeing her name on that truck, one that still twists my gut and dampens my eyes. It makes me wonder what it's all about...this life. Sometimes we think we have so much time that we put things off or take them for granted...always promising (if even just to ourselves) that we will get around to doing {fill in the blank} another day. But we are not promised another day.

Emerald Pool above Vernal Falls rests on a solid sheet of polished granite.

Hiking through Yosemite this past week, feeling overwhelmed by the smallness of our existence while walking across a gigantic slab of granite polished by a glacier some 100 million years ago, I had moments of clarity...that in the grand scheme of things probably 90% of what occupies my mind {worry, fear, longing, blame, past hurts, resentment, regrets, etc.) add no benefit to my life. Not only that, but these thoughts are robbing me of my present life.

I lost count of the number of stairs we climbed up to the top of the falls...but they almost broke us, however our spirit (and ego) pushed us forward.

Our second day in Yosemite, Clark and I climbed to the top of Vernal Falls via the Mist Trail. It's about 1.5 miles one way but has a 1000 foot gain as well. I had misread the guide and was under the impression this was marked an "easy" hike. It was far from easy and at one point we contemplated quitting and turning back. However, once we completed the climb and the equally, if not more, gruelling decent the pain and suffering seemed to evaporate as we celebrated our accomplishment.

A little toast to surviving the hike at Camp Curry.

But that's the key, in a sense...to release the pain so we can relish in our ability at having overcome the obstacle. Whether that pain is from something our parents did (or didn't do), something hurtful some guy said to us years ago, some misunderstanding we had with a friend or co-worker that got so blown out of proportion that our Ego won't 'let' us forgive or forget, a test we failed (or class for that matter), a relationship that didn't work (perhaps from our own indiscretions)...whatever the obstacle or challenge that we have had to deal with and lived through demands our celebration.

zensationalliving.com

At some point, after the pity party (which is hopefully short lived) and mourning, we need to let go so we can continue to live in the moment. The past has nothing to offer except the lessons we've already learned...and we need to rehash those about as much as we need to keep tracing our letters in cursive and practising our multiplication tables over and over {ahem, in other words it's time to move on}.

source

Rachel was 19 when she died thousands of miles from home...almost 9 years ago to the day. As I sit here at my comfortable desk, sipping a lovely Petite Syrah, watching the San Francisco Giant clench their spot in the World Series I wonder what her life was like, and what would/could have been. I wonder if she had the chance to love someone with all of her heart, if she stopped and enjoyed the warmth of the sun on her face or laughed when she got caught in a sudden downpour. I hope so...I hope she enjoyed every moment she was given, even the hard ones...and I hope you do too.